


It Sounds Like

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Series: Get Gotten [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An invitation he should never have responded to, a party they never should have attended, a drunk boy he should have turned away. Louis never really was that good with doing things he shouldn't.</p><p>or the one Erin wanted with <a href="http://youtu.be/0nyqRVdQK1Q">Bruno Mars - When i Was Your Man</a> as inspiration</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Sounds Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsyt31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31/gifts).



> NC17 | future!fic angst fest just for my Erin (infidelity, established relationships) | louis/harry (louis/eleanor, harry/nick)
> 
> unbeta'd because it was Erin's birthday YESTERDAY and i FAILED at getting this done on time. or early. bah.

**It Sounds Like**

"We didn't have to come."

"I know."

She sighs and he watches them dance and pretends. Pretends that he's here because he wants to be. Pretends that it doesn't _hurt_ to watch them together. To see what he could have had spin slowly round a dance floor filled with what was once _their_ friends. Their family.

Who does he have now?

"We can go, they know you came."

He swallows hard as they smile and laugh and the ache in his chest that seems to be a permanent resident balloons in size. She's right. They should go. They should say quick goodbyes to those that will look for them. Disappear into the night. Disappear from a life he's no longer part of.

But he can't. He never has been able to walk completely away from Harry. Why would tonight be any different to any of the countless others that have come before.

"Lou."

He shakes his head, squeezes her hand and puts the smile on his face that he's worn for so long now he's forgotten what _real_ happiness feels like. "Alright, let me find Niall and we can go."

Eleanor nods and picks up her bag from where it's only been at the table for an hour or so. They came late, just after everyone else had ate dinner and the proper sitting portion of the evening was over and done. Niall had given a speech and the cake had been brought out then the dancing had begun. Louis said three words to Harry tonight. None of which had been hello or goodbye. 

He should have said more. 

Eleanor finishes making her goodbyes to the couple they'd sat beside - Louis thinks they might have been Harry's cousins - the girl has curls like Harry does, dimples in her grin that match Harry's own. Then again, he always thinks of things like that in terms of Harry. All the big things anyway. The little ones he holds too close to his heart to let himself think on too much. 

"I think I see Niall by the bar," Eleanor says with a light tug on his elbow. He nods, moves to the side so she can link her arm with his. They make their way with little fuss through the crowd. Most people are too busy drinking or laughing or talking in that loud way that happy, drunk people do to pay them much mind. Some of them he recognises, people that he used to spend days with now barely nod in his direction. It should hurt but he knows the whys. Or at least they think they do and it's enough, really. 

The things that Louis knows truths of that people think they understand could fill libraries. 

Maybe he should write a book.

Niall spots them before Louis does. Smile wide, blond hair a sweaty, matted mess from either him or whoever he's been around mucking about with it. His eyes are glassy which isn't unexpected. He's been gearing up for tonight all day. Louis knows, he has the thirty or so texts which slowly became unrecognisable in speech as evidence of the fact.

"Mate!" he cries, arms wide as he scoops up Lou and Eleanor both in a bone crushing hug. For all his lean, wirey build - he still manages to make Louis' ribs ache. "Where you been hiding? Did you see the thing with the cake? What a laugh, right!" Niall talks in half formed thoughts, but Louis' been around him long enough to understand what he's getting at.

"Yeah, a riot," he answers, forcing a smile. "Look, Nialler, we're going to head. El's got a thing in the morning and we were only stopping in for a minute,"

Niall's smile falls and he blinks and somehow the glaze lifts, the blue turns that much brighter and Louis _knows_ that look. Niall's paying attention. Looking for something that Louis isn't sure he wants anyone to find. Isn't sure that he should even acknowledge himself.

"Right," he says after a moment, still staring at Louis with a hard edge, it softens though, as he turns to Eleanor. "How's the store? Gemma said she heard Lily Allen dropped by the other day,"

"Oh, we're doing well. She's right, sort of. It was Lily's friend actually. But she said she'd bring Lily along next time their in town. Did you ask your-" The conversation continues but Louis' not paying attention any more. There's someone else that's caught his eye. 

He's talking to away to some bird with big hair that Louis recognises from a TV show that his sisters adore. Harry's all big smiles and bright eyes but his focus isn't on the girl. It's just a little to her left, over her shoulder and directly on Louis. Louis' raises a brow, his mouth turning up at one side as a "hello." Harry nods and is saying something in return to the woman, but his hand is flicking his short curls out of his face which says, "hi," in return. The woman turns to talk to Nick then, Nick who's got his arm low on Harry's waist, fingertips curled over Harry's hip but Louis isn't looking at that. He's watching as Harry turns slightly toward where Louis is standing. He lifts the glass in his hand, nods at the bar. Louis shakes his head a little, eyes shifting to the door as he shrugs. Harry's smile falls for a second, but it's back again as Nick tugs on his waist and with one last blink, his attention is turned elsewhere.

It's the most they've spoken in a over year. 

A year since the band went on "hiatus." A year since Nick and Harry got back together. A year since Louis asked Eleanor to move in, permanently, after a decade of on and off agains.

A year is a long time.

"-early so we really should be going," Eleanor says and Louis nods. He can feel where Harry is without even needing to see him. Can hear the sound of his laughter above the din of the entire room. He can picture the way Harry's green eyes will be sparkling under the attention of those that love him. Those that he loves in return. It pricks at his skin from how far apart they are and it's stupid. It's ridiculous that he wants to be in the centre of that. Have Harry's everything trained on him when he's had nothing of Harry in so long. 

They shouldn't have come. It was so much easier just pretending that Harry existed somewhere in another world. A place where their lives no longer were so intertwined and involved. He should have thrown the invite out when he saw it, but then Eleanor had found it on the kitchen counter and she thought it would be "nice" and "if he didn't want you there, he wouldn't have invited you."

Louis still doesn't understand why he did. Why he would.

"Catch up soon, yeah?" Niall says, pointedly looking at Louis and Louis gets it. He knows that Niall will want to ask him how he is and how he felt after tonight and Louis just can't think about that now. He's thankful that Liam isn't here to see him like this, he'd know Louis' thoughts and where they were drifting to in an instant. Liam's in Australia helping out with this years answer for X-Factor but he sent a video. They'd arrived in time to watch his friend onscreen, a familiar face that helped settle the nervous swirl to his gut sitting amongst people that were mostly strangers to him now. The last part of their five - Zayn - well, Zayn doesn't do much that requires his face in London anymore. Another friendship gone sour and Louis doesn't like to dwell on that particular downfall much at all. 

"Sure, mate," Louis answers, fist bumping with Niall's as Eleanor steps to the side and Louis remembers that they're leaving. 

He doesn't look back as they exit through the door, smiles bright at the flashes from the papz that are waiting. He has to blink a little to clear the spots. It's been a while since he's been a person of interest - well, enough to have his photo taken for. Cabs are lined up ready to recieve guests from the party so it takes them seconds to disapear from the restaurant and into the London streets where they could be anyone.

. . .

They're nearing home when Eleanor speaks. She's been quiet the entire ride, sitting close to the window as Louis sits with what feels like an ever widening space between them, leaning his face against the cool glass, watching the city go by. It shouldn't feel as normal as it does, their lack of conversation. But it's been months - maybe longer - that they've had anything proper to say to each other.

"I think, I think I'll go to the shop," she says and Louis sits up, actually pays attention and stops pretending like he's not thinking about the tiny interaction he had with Harry before. 

"But it's nearly one," he says, out of habit more than anything else, she's been spending a lot of time at the little clothing store she's running with a few mates from uni. There's a bedsit above it and it's supposed to be their office space and a place to store excess stock. Yet in the last six months it seems to have gained a sofabed and a lot more of Eleanor's clothing and belongings than paperwork or dresses waiting to be sold. Louis hasn't said anything about it. Eleanor's coming and goings seem less and less important of late. 

That probably should mean more than it does. Should be something he gives more than just a passing thought.

"I've got a few things to do before my meeting in the morning and everything I need is there," she says without turning to face him and Louis feels the gap between them like a distance that soon he won't be able to find a bridge to cross.

"Okay," he says, turning back to watch familiar scenery come into view. He doesn't think about how she tends to do this anytime Harry is mentioned or brought up. This whole pulling away thing only happens out of the public eye, behind closed doors. It was why he was so surprised she pushed for them to go tonight. Actually rang Harry herself to say they'd be along.

Probably one of ten conversations the pair of them have had in the whole time Louis and Eleanor have been together.

When he gets out, she doesn't say goodbye but she does give him a sort of smile that seems sadder than any he's ever seen on her face before. It doesn't sit right in his stomach - something that's already a mess of emotions from the little he had to do with Harry and how he still can't cope with seeing him at all. He's just about to shut the door when she says his name, and he pauses. 

"It's okay you know." 

He leans in, hand gripping the top of the door which is wet - it's London, there's always rain at one point or another. "What is?"

She smiles with her mouth closed, eyes all soft and knowing and he wonders if this is how she looks at him now. If he's not paid enough attention to realise pity is the look she reserves for him. 

"Sometimes things just end, Lou, in time for other's to start."

It's cryptic and he thinks he understands but it can't be because it's something they haven't talked about in _so long_. Not since the second world tour. Not since New Zealand the first time, or Sydney before. It hasn't been a thing for them to worry about because Louis made a choice and he's happy with it. So happy. Happy with Eleanor. He is.

He is.

He just doesn't understand how he can be "happy" and one look into Harry's own version, has him feeling like he's been faking it all along. 

"I just want you to be happy, Lou and I really don't think either of us are anymore."

He stands back, brows furrowed from what she said and the things hidden in words left unspoken. 

She sighs, "We'll talk tomorrow when I get home. Close the door, Louis."

He nods, shuts the door and taps it lightly on the roof twice so it'll move on. It sits funny what she said. The idea that she's not happy and acknowledging the fact that he's not either. He's tried. He really has. Tried to be a good boyfriend. Tried to be a good partner and open up and share his home and world and himself to her more than anyone. But it's been hard. Harder than he ever thought it would be and it all started with one bloody invite and a note that said, "please come." 

Fucking Harry. Fucking Harry and his ability to work his way into Louis life and relationship when Louis done everything to keep them far apart. At least he didn't flinch when he heard Harry's name tonight. Ever since Eleanor mentioned that he does he's tried to stop. He should be able to protect himself from something as simple as a name and what it does to him. Should be, but he's not.

A horn from a passing car rouses him from his staring contest with the space the taxi previously occupied. He shakes himself off and wraps his coat tightly around him, finds his keys in his pocket and heads up the stairs into the foyer and the elevator beyond. 

. . . 

He's still sitting in the dark an hour later, vodka with mostly melted ice in one hand as he stares out the window into the view of night sky that the height of his flat affords. It's all pretty lights and dark windows but it's quiet and it leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Which, quite frankly, is a dangerous place to be.

The front buzzer has him jumping up, startled, vodka sloshing down his arm and onto his black trousers. Louis swears quietly, puts the glass on the table and heads toward the door. He doesn't expect anyone - there are a few people that can get up through the front without much of a word. But the door is always locked. He's certain Eleanor left her keys with him. Maybe she realised just how uncomfortable that pull out sofa in the office actually is, maybe she wants to explain more about the things she said in the cab home.

He opens the door without looking, apologies already forming on his lips when instead he's met with two arm full of boy. They plunge to the floor, Louis off balance from the sheer weight and height of who's in front of him and breath knocked from his lungs the moment the carpet hits his back. His mouth fills with curls and his chest has an elbow and maybe a chin pressed into it which hurts. 

"Harry?" he asks, when he finally gets his breath back and the lump on top of him hasn't budged.

"Hello," this voice answers with a giggle somewhere near Louis ear or shoulder. "I seem to have fallen,"

Louis rolls his eyes and pats his hand on the carpet, the other somewhere on Harry's back judging by the feel of material and the heat that Harry always seemed to carry with him. 

"You have," he answers, biting at his lip because his hearts started to thump that little bit faster. Harry smells like alcohol and an abundance of colognes and perfumes of all those that he's rubbed up against during the night. There's one crisp scent above them all and Louis knows it's not Harry's cologne - he'd pick that anywhere - but the fact that it's richer here where he's got his face pressed to Harry's cheek means it's probably one person over any other. And Louis doesn't want to think about that. Not with Harry on top of him drunk right now.

"Sorry," Harry says, pushing himself up on one hand, his face coming into view, eyes blinking wide as he focuses in on Louis. He smiles and it's so very much like the sixteen year old boy that Louis first fell into. . . something with, that Louis can't help but grin in return. 

"Hello, Lou."

Louis fights the urge to roll his eyes, ignores how most of Harry's lower body is pressed against his own. "Hello, Harry,"

Harry frowns, lips pouting, "No, don't say it like that. Your meant to say it better, different."

"You're drunk, Harry," Louis says, feeling his face flush with heat from the intensity of Harry's stare. His green eyes are ringed with red and look a little wet but then again it could just be from how much he's drunk. He didn't look as smashed as he is now when Louis and El left. He was able to stand on his own and hold a conversation. Unlike now.

Harry's shaking his head, curls that are shorter than any other time Louis' known them to be, matted to his forehead. Gone are the days of him shaking them out and sweeping them to the side, or getting Lou to teach him how to tease the front into a high pouf of a thing that even Zayn was a little jealous of. Now it's close cropped, but not like when Liam shaved it all off the first time he ended it with Danielle. Just these short, springy things that bounce all over his head when he moves. 

"I am a little. But you didn't say it right."

"Say what right?" Louis asks because he's a little lost in this conversation and still reeling from the fact that someone he's had little to no contact with in a year is now in his flat, lying on top of him.

"My name. My name, Lou."

Louis stares back at Harry and Harry huffs, one hand coming up to squeeze Louis cheeks together so his lips are pouted like a duck. "Say it, say my name how your supposed to,"

"Hawwy?" 

"No," Harry says, shaking his head again and squeezing Louis cheeks tight enough that Louis can feel his the inside of his mouth pressing against his teeth.

"Dis hurwts, Hawwy," he tries again because he really hasn't a clue what Harry wants.

Harry's green eyes are still focused on Louis, like he's looking for something and Louis isn't giving him what he wants to find. He huffs, letting go of Louis cheeks and resting his forehead on Louis' shoulder. He whispers something, words too quiet for Louis to hear. Louis lifts his hand from the carpet and rubs at his cheeks, the hot imprint left from Harrys' fingers feels like a brand on his skin.

"Harry,"

"Stop," Louis hears Harry clear that time, Harry's hand tapping lightly on Louis' chest, "Don't. Don't say it like that."

"You're really drunk," he says instead, because he can smell it and he can hear it in Harry's sloppy tone and why else would Harry have came? Sober Harry has and wants nothing to do with Louis at all. Hasn't for a long time.

"I am," Harry answers, soft and sort of sad, fingertips tip-tapping over Louis chest from pinky to thumb and back again. "I'm sorry."

Louis pats Harry's back gently, not sure how much he's allowed to do. They haven't touched or talked in so long he's unsure of what his part is here. Harry came to him but Harry's always been the one to reach out and touch and want and Louis' always been the one to push him away, keep him at a distance. And Louis' isn't exactly sober himself. It's easy in a way that it shouldn't be, hard in a way that it always was. 

"Does anyone know you're here?" Louis asks when a few minutes of silence passes between them, Harry's body still like a deadweight on much of Louis' own. He's got Harry pressed so tight to his side and front that he can feel every breath Harry takes. 

"You mean does Nick?" Harry pipes up, tone different this time, more of an edge, almost a push for Louis to bite. 

He doesn't.

He's past that point. Past prodding Harry to get a reaction. Past ignoring the times that Harry would do it in return, pushing and shoving and making it near impossible for Louis to look away. To walk away from the one thing he wanted but convinced himself was a bad idea to have. They had their moment - their _thing_ \- and it ended up hurting them both. He and Harry weren't. . . they just weren't meant to be an anything. Friends was hard enough. After.

"He does, told me to come. But you're not - " Harry stops and starts and it settles something that was swirling the alcohol in his stomach with Harry's admission that Nick at least knows where his boyfriend is. 

"Eleanor's at the shop." Louis adds, because if Harry's been honest, so should he.

"Why'd you come? I mean. I knew you were going to but you never. . . why'd you come?" Harry stutters out after too few breaths and silence lapses between them. 

Louis breathes in and out as best he can with a boy this heavy lying mostly atop him. Harry's drawing little circles or swirls on his chest now and all Louis can see is the top of his dark curls, a tiny slice of his nose if squishes his chin down far enough. He can feel Harry, though. Feel where the point of his boot is a little uncomfortable pushed into the meat of Louis' calf, knee bent and covering most of Louis' thigh. Feel the warmth of Harry's chest covering his own, the sharp prick that the metal of Harry's belt buckle provides, poked into his side. There's so much Harry everywhere and it's making his head swim. 

"Because you asked, because you wanted me to. If you didn't want me there you could have said," he sounds stroppy even to his own ears and it's not like that, but it sort of is. He takes a longer breath before continuing, "Because it's your birthday. It's your birthday and you've never missed any of mine," he finishes quietly, and he feels the cracks in his heart that he's mostly spackled together fissuring and coming apart. There's this whooshing in his ears and he's glad he spoke so quietly, almost as if saying it any louder would make it mean more. But it does. It means something that Harry sends a text. Means something that Harry's never, ever forgotten since they met - even when they were fighting, even when they weren't speaking at all. Always a text, always one minute past midnight on his actual birthday.

Louis wishes he could say he did the same. . . but he's never been as good as Harry is. 

Not even now.

"You didn't stay long."

Louis shifts, realises his hand that was just sitting on Harry's lower back is now slowly moving in a circuit up and down the length of Harry's spine. It feels strange with how familiar it is just to _hold_ Harry like this. Like the years that have passed haven't been as many as they have. Like this could be them in their bunk in the X-Factor house, curled up and cuddled up and so very, very in love. 

But they're not.

They're both much less than sober and lying on the floor in Louis' flat. A flat he shares with El. He should be pushing Harry off and getting them both a cuppa and pretending he doesn't remember how Harry takes it (white with one). He should be offering to call Harry a cab or at the very least, giving him the spare room to sleep it off. He could get out some crisps and pull out his Playstation that he hasn't touched in a forever. Maybe find FIFA and play until they fall asleep on seperate ends of the sofa. It could be just like they did when they were rebuilding who they were to each other after the second world stadium tour, when they finally could handle talking to each other and being left alone together again. He should be doing so much more than holding Harry close and turning his head so he can _breathe_ Harry in. He shouldn't be sliding his legs further apart so Harry can fit in-between, so snug, it's like a lost puzzle piece finally finding its way home.

He should just _stop_ this now.

But he doesn't.

"I _came_ , Harry. I thought that would be. I don't know what I was thinking, actually," Louis admits with a soft laugh. His mind keeps reeling with the fact that Harry is here and he's just. . . he's so much the same and so different and Louis doesn't know why he hasn't pushed Harry off yet. Why he didn't the moment he answered the door.

Harry snuffles, rubbing his face against Louis' chest, "We didn't even get a dance," 

Louis laughs because it was their tradition once. Dancing like idiots to whatever came up on Harry's horribly indie playlist, melding their bodies together from a proper waltz into something that was slow and sensual and mostly ended with them a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. "I think you danced plenty," _Danced with the one who doesn't hide what you are together from anyone,"_ his mind finishes and he hates himself a little for the thought. He never did that for Harry. Never could be exactly what Harry wanted.

"Not with you. Not with you, Lou."

Harry's up off the floor faster, and far more coordinated than he should be in seconds. Louis stares up at him, this long tall string bean of a boy - man - that he's grown into. The same green eyes shine bright as they look down at where he's still lying on the floor. Same dimpled grin that's a promise of cheek and playfulness to come. Limbs that still seem to stretch on for miles as he leans down, offering Louis his hand. He's so much the same as the boy Louis fell in and never out of love with, different in many ways but there's still the same Harry Styles under the shorter hair, longer limbs and tiny creases around his eyes that say he's lived life more than some.

"C'mon. It's my birthday and I want a dance."

"Is this why you came over? Because I didn't dance with you?" Louis asks, chewing on his lip because it's a hand and it's Harry and a bloody _dance_ of all things. But Louis knows what dancing means to Harry. Moving with someone in ways that tell stories that lips never could. The simple act of holding someones hand meaning more than it should.

"Yes. No. Maybe?" Harry answers, tilting his head to the side and letting out this bubble of giggles and Louis does actually roll his eyes then. It feels like there's this buzzing just under his skin from the mere act of Harry looking at him. He felt it tonight at the restaurant. Felt it before he even saw Harry, but he knew that Harry could see him. Even after all this time, it's the same feeling he had meeting a pretty curly haired boy in a bloody bathroom at a urinal. It's never changed and Louis doesn't want to wonder why or figure it out. There's too much vodka in his veins and an ache in his heart from being around Harry even this much. 

"Lewis, it's my birthday and I want a dance," Harry says, ridiculously pushing out his bottom lip and Louis' heart thumps out of time.

"Only because it's your birthday and you're drunk. And I'm drunk. And I still don't understand how you even got here," Louis says, trying hard not to grin but Harry smiles anyway, wriggling his fingers in Louis' face.

"You're not that hard to find, Lou," he says, gripping Louis' hand tight, "Just got to know where to look,"

He pulls too hard or Louis springs too quickly from his feet because they crash into each other and Louis near flails only to be wrapped in Harry's long arms. A cage in which he can't escape from. Doesn't want to maybe. They laugh and it's loud and Louis can feel it on his cheek, this rattle deep in Harry's lungs and it echoes of a time when he was the only one that could really get Harry to sound like that. Pure happiness unbridled. He wonders if it's his fault Harry stopped doing that, so long ago.

Or is it someone else now that gets to hear that sound. Someone that doesn't mind holding his hand or dancing him around a room full of people or being ridiculous just to hear Harry _laugh_. 

And it shouldn't matter. Because he has Eleanor and he _chose_ Eleanor and yet. . . Eleanor isn't the one he's here with. He can't even remember a time that he got her to smile a proper one, one that wasn't forced or half there. 

He only has to _look_ at Harry and he's beaming.

"Dance with me," Harry asks, this near whisper at Louis ear and Louis feels it curl it's way down his insides. Settling somewhere low in his stomach and he feels lit like a pull, this thing between them that he's ignored, shut off for so long and it's as if one second with Harry has everything lighting up again. All the parts of himself that burned for Harry's attention are flickering into life and Louis doesn't know if he's strong enough to put them all out again. Not with Harry being here and how El talked about being happy in the car and Harry. Just Harry.

"Okay," he murmurs, this loud sound in the sudden quiet of the room. He breathes in shakily as Harry takes his hand, the other slipping low around Louis' waist. Louis' fingertips slide back and forth over Harry's shoulder, the crisp cotton of his button down a welcome distraction from where he is and what he's doing. 

It's the worst of ideas. Having Harry in the house. Having Harry in his arms. 

"We," he clears his throat after a few seconds of them just _standing_ together, "We don't have any music,"

He can feel Harry's curls at his temple, Harry's breath a warmth at his ear, "We never needed it before, just. Just dance with me," 

Louis nods and his heart races and yet he moves as Harry does. It's different now, their moves had to change over time with Harry and his growthspurt. Louis doesn't lead anymore, just follows. They shift back and forth and their feet move with purpose, until it's just from side to side. Harry's not holding his hand anymore, but he's still touching Louis. His palm this heat at the bottom of Louis spine, fingertips toying with the soft hair at the nape of Louis' neck. His head's resting on Louis shoulder and he must have to bend a bit to get it there but when he turns a little, Louis can feel Harry's lips on his skin. And. And.

"Harry," he says because this is more than dancing and Louis isn't. He can't.

Harry mumbles something and Louis feels it as a buzz under his jaw beside his ear. "Lou, Louis,"

"Harry we-" he starts but stops because Harry's looking at him now and it's. It's a lot. Big green eyes that are dark with something Louis only sees in dreams now and his lips are so _red_ and Louis. . . Louis, he. He wants. God, he wants and he wants everything they had and everything that they were and he just. He wants.

"Don't say no," Harry whispers as he leans in, lashes fluttering to a close and Louis gets out a, "never could," before they're kissing and Louis stops thinking at all.

It's just Harry's lips on his like they should be, always. Harry's hand gripping the back of Louis head, fingers threaded into Louis' hair holding tight. There's Harry's hand on his hip, hard enough to leave fingerprint shaped bruises in the morning. Louis is gripping back just as much because he doesn't want Harry going _anywhere_. It's not a nice kiss. There's teeth and tongue and pressure so hard a few times that Louis thinks he's definitely tasting blood. When he stops to breathe for a second as Harry nips at his jaw, he curls his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip and there's definitely a tear in the flesh there. 

"Harry," he says, Harry's lips soft and tongue warm as they trace the line of his neck. He grips Harry's hips that bit harder, fisting the thin black cotton of Harry's button down hard and pulling up and up. It's like they've started and the possibility of stopping is impossible. Harry's whispering Louis' name and it's like a mantra, falling from his lips, his teeth grazing over Louis' collarbone. Sharp over the dark ink that stains Louis' skin there, still a little tender from where Louis had it redone a week ago, the words begining to fade but the meaning still important enough that Louis needs it to stand out. 

Harry's pulled the thin white vest Louis had on to the side to lick and suck at Louis' skin, biting around the bud of his nipple. Louis shifts his legs apart and Harry presses in and Louis pulls harder at Harry's shirt, needing it to be gone. Needing to feel how Harry's the same or has changed and just _needing_ more. Harry pulls back, hands shifting to his shirt and he's pulling it up and over his head in one easy move and then there's nothing but tan skin and black lines that mean more to Louis than anyone. Secret messages that the fans thought they'd had all worked out, but never quite understood the meaning of. 

Louis knows them. Knows most of them. But Harry's always been an addict for the sting of the needle, ink telling stories that words never would. There's new lines, new riddles to unwind and Louis wishes he had the time to. Harry's chest is heaving, the birds moving almost as if in flight as Louis _stares_. He drinks in all the old and the new and raises a hand slow, like he might spook Harry if he moves too fast and just _touches_. Harry's so warm and he's near shaking as Louis licks his poor bruised lips, traces the familiar and the not so and Harry moves his body, draws his arm up and out as Louis continues to _look_. He presses the tips of his fingers into the place where "Hi" once was, leaves red half moons when he lets go and it's like a shift in the air between them. Harry near growls and he's grappling with Louis' shirt, near ripping it from his form. Louis shivers a little, the heat in the air nothing like the press of Harry's body against him before. 

"Missed. _Lou_ ," he croaks and then he's all over Louis again, hand at his hip sliding up and around his back as the other is in Louis' hair again, lips frantic and near violent as they come back together. 

They're moving backwards and Louis' brain runs through scenarios of where this might be - is definitely - leading. He knows that the seat on the sofa is wide enough for two, or there's the spare bed down the hall or his own, but. He doesn't want to stop and analyse the pros and cons of where to take this. Doesn't want to _think_ because it feels so good and he can't, won't stop. 

"Harry," he near moans as they pause again, somewhere close to the sofa, because Louis can feel the end table digging into the back of his thighs. There are fingertips skirting just under his trousers above his bum and another at the buckle of his belt and Louis laughs as Harry curses under his breath, in the few seconds he takes his lips from Louis' skin. 

"Let me," he says and Harry nods, stepping back just enough to give Louis room to move. He ends up giggling a little nervously and the second he looks up, grinning shyly - which is ridiculous because they've _done_ this before - he feels like it's the begining and not a whatever this has become. They were so, _so_ young the first time and they're not that anymore, nothing is new and extrordinary like it was then but it feels just the same. There's this nervous anticipation riding right alongside an almost veracious _need_ to touch and explore and Louis' is near bursting with it all. 

Harry leans in, kisses him quick and it's so affectionate, so light and yet it feels heavy on his skin, a brand that Harry's putting on him and Louis has to stop at where he's got his fly half down. He has to stop and wrap his hand around Harry's neck and pull him in and push his tongue into Harry's mouth and taste and taste until he's stopped thinking about it. Harry's just as rough and Louis hears the metallic click of the zip on his trousers and yeah, that's why they'd paused. His hand slides down over Harry's shoulder to his waist, Harry's skin is so hot under his fingertips as he finds that Harry's already got all the buttons on his jeans undone. 

Harry makes this sound and it's like he's trying to keep it in, this groan getting caught in his throat as Louis fingers continue exploring and he's got Harry's cock in his hand. It's a tight squeeze between the tight fit of Harry's jeans and pants, near pinching the back of Louis hand as he dips his fingers down and around. It stops them again, this breath between movements and Louis catches Harry's eyes. The green is swamped by how blown out his irises are, this dark need reflected in them as his tongue flashes out quick, this pretty pink over the plush, blushing red of his bottom lip. 

"I want, can you," Harry starts and stops, kissing Louis again while Louis holds him in his hand and Harry's nails pinch into Louis' shoulder with how hard he's holding on. "Will you, please. . . just," he says between presses of his lips to nearly every surface of Louis' face. The corner of his lips, the tip of his nose, his brow, the sharp cut of his cheekbone and teeth scraping over the pad of skin at the bottom of his ear. "Fuck me, Lou, I -"

Louis is already saying yes and attacking Harry's mouth with his own. He can't think about if this is a good idea. Can't think about who Harry has at home and who is supposed to be in this house with Louis now that is not. If he does. If he lets his mind wander from what's happening in the here and now he'll hate himself and hate Harry and he can't. He just can _not_.

He wants to do this right. Wants to have this once - if this is what it is - with Harry to mean something. To maybe mean all the things left unsaid between them - or to make up for the ones already heard. 

Harry's got his hand then and Louis drags the other from between Harry's legs, giving his cock a little squeeze before he does. Harry's leaning on his shoulder, teeth pressing into his skin and Louis is laughing again. He's laughing and Harry's own matching bark is echoing around them and it just. It's so light between them, and Louis can't remember smiling this much or laughing this loud. "C'mon," he murmurs, tugging on Harry's hand and they make their way down the hall, Harry's free hand on Louis' bum, fingers curled over Louis' pants from where his trousers have fallen down. 

As soon as Louis has the door to the bedroom open, Harry's got him up against the wall. He's kissing Louis hard and Louis has to just _grip_ Harry's arms to hold on. Harry's got a leg between them and he's grinding up into Louis and Lou can feel how hard Harry's become just from the short twenty steps they've taken and _god_ he just wants. He wants Harry's lips for as long as he's allowed to have them, wants Harry's touch for as long as he can, everywhere and anywhere. He wants and he wants and Harry looks to be on the same page. He's scratching light and then hard over Louis' stomach, angry red lines left in their wake. Harry's making all these little sounds that Louis keeps catching with his mouth. 

Louis hasn't closed his eyes once since this began, this. . . whatever it is that they seem not to be able to stop. It's like the moment that they both decided to do this, it mattered too much, meant too much to miss a second of it. Harry's slowly moving down Louis' body now, lips and teeth and tongue biting trails and soothing them just as fast as he slides to the ground. Louis head snaps back against the wall and Harry's pulling his pants and trousers down, tapping Louis' knees one by one to get them completely off. It's a slow touch of skin on skin as his hands curl warm around Louis' ankles and up and up until he's wrapping one around Louis' hip the other at the base of his cock. Louis' already half hard from the buildup and from _Harry_ that a deep groan leaves his lips the moment Harry's touches the crown. His tongue swirls around the tip, hand jacking slow and a little dry as he tugs Louis' foreskin down. Louis hands turn into fists that he bangs against the wall. It's bordering on painful the slow pull Harry's got on his cock but then when Harry goes _down_ and his mouth is just this wet heat, filled with suction and his tongue is _right there_ on the underside and oh _fuck_. 

Harry pinches his hip and Louis blinks, never realising that he actually closed his eyes and Harry's now almost glaring up at him. Well, Harry's version of a glare which is nothing more than a little furrow between his brow. Louis runs his tongue over his lips and reaches down brushing his fingers through Harry's curls, down his cheek and Harry leans into his touch. He pulls off, hand sliding up and down slow, a light squeeze just under the head and Louis' heel kicks into the wall. 

"Want, do you," Harry pants and Louis reaches down, tugs at Harry's arm until he's standing in front of Louis. 

"I just want you," Louis says softly, the tip of his nose brushing against Harry's and he's got his hands on Harry's jeans and he's shoving them down as best he can. Harry helps drag them off because - of course he still wears the tightest denim known to man - and then they're fumbling closer to the bed. Harry's toeing off his boots and Louis is just touching him, running his hands over every inch of Harry's warm skin like he's learning everything anew or making up for lost time. It's one or the other or both and everything _feels_ so good. He's sat on the bed now, Harry's lips on his as Louis scoots back and Harry crawls over him. They get to the top - a million pillows behind their heads - and Louis can't stop kissing Harry while they throw them to the floor. 

"I'm sor-" Harry starts when they finally have the bed clear and Louis stops him with another kiss, sucking the apologies that aren't needed from Harry's tongue. He's got Harry's shoulders then, pulling him in close and spreading his legs wide so Harry fits between them. It's an echo of how they were on the floor before. Before when Harry was drunk and Louis was, too, and that was the excuse for anything that happened in those seconds between being clothed and being naked and wanting something they'd both denied themselves. Well, what Louis had decided for them both.

And he feels it. Feels like this is giving Harry what he wants - what he's always wanted - but Louis eventually took away. Banished from any type of thought, because it hurt too much and they felt too much and they were _so young_ and they had their lives, their _careers_ ahead of them. He made a decision and Harry had no say in it and how he ever thought he could be one tenth of what he was when he was with this beautiful green eyed boy in front of him seems like a stupid idea now. It's one of the biggest regrets of his life and having Harry here - it's like making up for it in some ridiculous kind of way and maybe it is and maybe it's not - maybe it's just what it is. Just a boy wanting, needing to kiss this other boy in front of him until there's nothing between them but touch and taste and sound. 

"Have you - I don't have anything," Harry murmurs into the crook of Louis' elbow, right above the little bomb that's inked there. Louis feels the heat of implication behind Harry's words. Of course _he_ doesn't have anything. He's been with Nick for a year - but he doesn't know what their life is really like. He knows that he does have something, because even though he's been with El longer, they aren't ready for kids so it's all precautions are go. Even though the box that's in this room is from when Stan stayed over and Louis put them in their as a joke. Louis nods and squeezes out from under Harry, leaning over to the bedside drawers and pulling out what is a lighter packet than he put in a month or so ago. There's little packs of lube too and Louis really doesn't want to think about Stan's sexual apetitie while he's about to do something here with Harry along the same lines. 

"Stan's a bit of a beast," he says by way of explanation and Harry guffaws, dimples etched into his cheeks deep as he shakes his head, shifting his legs so he's straddling Louis waist now. 

"Will you, I want you to -" he begins and blushes - actually blushes - and it's so endearing, such a reminder of that very first time and every time after when Harry would ask that Louis has to reach up. He has to half sit to grasp Harry's face with two hands and kiss the boy of seventeen who nearly fainted when he asked Louis to fuck him with an added "please" that's still here, right in front of him. 

He takes the lube from Harry's hand, rips it open and leans in, kissing Harry slow and sweet. Harry's got his hands braced on Louis' chest, just sliding over his skin. He's making Louis shiver as the calluses on his fingers and palms from playing guitar brush over Louis nipples, sensitive to every touch. Louis squeezes some on his fingertips, rubbing them together before reaching between Harry's legs, tracing the tight furl of skin there swallowing down Harry's little sounds as he presses _in_.

He's tight, and hot, and it all comes back so easily, these flashes of times when they've been in positions like this before. Harry on top, or Harry on his back, or Harry on all fours. Or Harry with his back to Louis, hands against a wall or tiles in the shower, or that one time in an elevator before anyone knew who they really were. It's so familiar, so easy to listen to the sound of Harry's breathing changing when he's ready for Louis to push another finger in. To hear that sigh and slow roll of Harry's hips when Louis starts scissoring his fingers, easing the tight muscle that holds his them tight so Harry will be ready for more. Then there's the way he stutters on Louis' name when Louis tucks a third in and starts fucking up into Harry and Harry's thighs quake a little when the tip of his thumb barely brushes the sensitive skin at the rim. 

"Please, fuck. Louis, _please_."

Louis nods and slides his fingers out, rubs the now loosened skin with the pad of his thumb making Harry curse. Harry's got the condom in his hand now, licks his palm, which is unnecessary with how Louis' dick has leaked so much precome its only added to the slick left from Harry's mouth before. Louis lets him get away with it, watches Harry's chest shift in and out, stomach muscles still as ridiculously well formed, tighten as his dick bobs between his legs. Harry lets go after a few good tugs that leave Louis wondering if they shouldn't just give each other a handjob because Harry's hands are _so big_ and they grip Louis perfectly. 

It all changes the minute Harry's rolling the latex on and Louis' hands go to Harry's hips as he lifts up, grip strong at the base of Louis' prick lining him up before his eyes flutter closed as he sinks down. Louis near bites through his lip as Harry bottoms out, Louis' pelvis a cradle for the barely there curve of Harry's bum. He's in so deep and Harry's like this vice around him, this beautiful boy whose eyes are still closed, whites of his teeth showing from where he's got his bottom lip tucked under them. He's gorgeous and he's here and he's everything Louis hasn't allowed himself to want or need or even _think_ about for so long. 

Then Harry starts to move and Louis feels his heart - that was barely keeping an even beat before - start to shatter. It's the way Harry opens his eyes and _looks_ at him. It's the way he says Louis name, licking over swollen lips as he bends in close, nipping at Louis jaw. Harry's fingers are this light, barely there touch tracing the antlers on his stag, the curve of the heart that rests between them and down to the bird and the loops that are an infinity of questions unanswered. There's this tightness in Louis' chest, this lump in his throat and he croaks out Harry's name and Harry just shakes his head, threads their fingers together and grinds down and it's like he wants to soak Louis up, take him so deep that he'll never really be gone. 

"I just, I wanted," Harry mumbles against Louis lips and Louis presses his own to Harrys cheek and jaw and the sweat soaked curls near his ear, he whispers in return, "I know, I want so-" but he's cut off with a groan as Harry lifts up till he's just got the head inside him and then slams down and it's not gentle anymore. It's this rough, almost violent bounce above Louis and Louis takes it. Takes Harry's soft touches turning to blunt nails leaving red marks down his chest. Takes the extra bite to his skin, the hurtful suction of Harry's lips on his neck that will leave a mark Louis will happily bear. 

He lets Harry take and the apologies fall from his lips as tender touches to any part of Harry that he can reach. He squeezes Harry's hand in his as the tears start to fall from Harry's now closed eyes. Louis' feeling so many things, so _many_ things that his orgasm is creeping up on him and he's close, feels the impending release in that familiar buzz under his skin, the thrum of it building in his bones and deep in his gut. Harry's leaning in and kissing him again, and it's shaky now, with every breath between them this shudder of lips on lips and nothing more. Harry's lost his rhythm and when he comes its almost like its a surprise to them both. He grunts through it, dick pulsing untouched between them leaving thick white ropes of come on Louis' belly and chest and Harry falls forward, resting most of his body on Louis when he's done. His head's on Louis shoulder and it doesn't feel as if Harrys' going to move an inch anymore.

Louis fucks up into him though, too close to stop and it still feels too good to do anything _but_ continue. He lets go of Harry's hand then, runs it as soothingly as possible over the damp skin covering Harry's spine. He's hot and slippery and Louis just. He feels _so much._

He's so close and Harry's right there and Harry's got him to this point and the words start falling from his lips before he can stop them. These confessions in between breaths and he doesn't know if Harry can hear him and he maybe hopes that he can or can't but they come all the same.

"I'm sorry," and "I miss you so much," and "he better be good to you," and "its always been you," and the "I'm sorry's" return until they blend into one and he's coming hard. Back arching up into Harry's still form and Harry is there then, right at the begining of it all with his lips on Louis' and he kisses him through it. Still remembers that's what Louis loves best and Louis tastes all that Harry has to offer, takes all that Harry has to give as he comes in Harry, deep. 

Harry doesn't stop kissing him through the come down. Just holds Louis face and slides his tongue into Louis' mouth, curls it around his teeth and presses it to the roof of his mouth and it's the best kiss Louis' ever had. Ever. It says all the things Louis likes to think it does and when they slow and stop, it's only so Louis can pull out, tie the condom off and put it in the bedside drawer, before pushing it closed. It's kind of gross but there's no way anyone's going to be looking there tonight or in the morning. 

Louis cards his fingers through Harry's hair when he lays back down, hands Harry the tissues he grabbed from the top of the drawers letting Harry wipe himself clean. Harry curls back into his side when he's done, throws the tissues onto the floor and if that isn't another reminder of days past. Days that Louis should have clung on to. It's almost too hot for them to be lying together like they are, but the duvet is under them and getting up to wash off isn't a thought Louis wants to entertain at that moment. He's happy being here, here with Harry with all that happened and not letting the consequences of what they _did_ do be of importance right now.

Not now when it could be nine years ago in any number of hotels. Or ten in their ridiculously large shared flat. Or at the begining in a too small bunk with three of their closest friends pretending that they didn't hear a thing. Earbuds in and music turned up loud. It could be any of those times and Louis can't even remember them all, has put so many of them from his head but this - this he knows he'll keep.

"Louis," Harry starts, voice thick and sort of sleepy in that way it always was after sex like this. Sex that hurt and was more than just fucking to rid themselves of excess energy, or to show how much they meant to each other, or for fun.

"Lou, I think-"

"Harry, I think you literally weigh a ton," Louis says as a way of distraction, Harry sounds like he's going to start spouting things that they haven't talked about in years and Louis can't have that. He can't have Harry talking about their past and asking the questions that Louis still doesn't really have answers to. Not now. Not when he's feeling so fragile that any picking on Harry's part might have him spilling everything out in a tidal wave of emotion and hurt. 

"You didn't say my name right," Harry pauses and it's back to that weird line of questioning when he first came into Louis' flat. Louis sort of knows what he wants but it feels too big - even bigger than what they've just done, "I'm not your Harry," he says and then there's this sigh and a snuffle and Harry's breath evens out. It's ridiculous how easy it is for Harry to fall asleep. But he was always like this after sex, always so boneless and near fragile in the way he carried every emotion so close to his heart and then let it all go when he came. Everything he usually kept hidden completely on show.

"Happy birthday, Harold," Louis whispers, fingers combing through Harry's curls, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about anything else, at all. There's a tomorrow for all of that, if Harry's still there to talk it over with. If Harry stays at all.


End file.
